Holmes for the Holidays
by Galaxy1001D
Summary: Watson invites Sherlock Holmes to his house for Christmas dinner.


**Holmes for the Holidays**

_by Galaxy1001D_

It was the December of 1888, the end of a wonderful year with my new wife, Mary. We had moved into a new apartment and I had started my new practice and our youthful optimism had even survived that dreadful business in October that had had captured the London press in a way that could not be believed. Yes, our first year of marriage had survived every challenge that could be thrown at it, and only one challenge remained: spending the holiday with Sherlock Holmes.

My friend's cold and rational nature was often at odds with human sentiment. To him, the season where man extends goodwill to his fellow man merely meant there were fewer cases to challenge his ingenious but jaded mind. Although he would never admit it, I suspect that his first Christmas without me would sour him to the holiday even more than usual, but since I regarded him as warmly as any member of my own family I invited him over for Christmas dinner, in case he was unable to spend the day with his brother.

As predicted, he accepted my invitation with ill humor. "Very well, Watson, I'll attend this farce you call Christmas," he sneered irritably from the untidy mess he had transformed my old lodgings at 221b Baker Street, "but don't expect me to attend mass. Why an omnipresent God would require my presence at a physical location and actually take attendance is beyond me. And whatever you do, please don't buy me a present; I couldn't bear to add an additional strain on your finances until you and Mrs. Watson are fully secure in your new home. You realize that the odds of the Son of God being born at this particular time of year that just happens to correspond with the winter solstice is quite remote is it not? The church placed it on top of a pagan holiday if I remember correctly. Although I don't blame the merchants for attempting to end the fiscal year on a high note, I don't see why we should have to join in. I shall come to dinner because I don't wish to insult Mrs. Watson. Thanks to you she has an exaggerated opinion of me and I would be a fool to make an enemy out of her as long as she allows me the pleasure of your company. I shall be there for dinner my dear fellow. Have no fear of that."

As I feared, his first Christmas without me had turned him into a virtual Scrooge, almost completely undoing the progress I had made during my time as his roommate. Still I was determined to give him a holiday that proved that at the Watson house he was welcome.

At last the day had come. As I assisted my wife and the hired girl in the kitchen I warned them not to take anything my friend said or did personally.

To Holmes' credit, when he arrived he focused his powerful and magnetic personality on his charm. So witty and agreeable was my friend that I had forgotten his admonishment about the holiday. After dinner as we were enjoying our cigars, I offered him a gift box.

"Watson you shouldn't have." His contemptuous tone indicated that his was no modest expression of gratitude but the disappointed grumble of a teacher who has failed to educate his pupil. "I made it quite clear that I was available for dinner as long as you didn't bother me with this hypocritical holiday."

"But Holmes, it's the season," I shrugged as I indicated the decorated tree, the wreath, and the little Father Christmases my wife had made. "I wouldn't consider myself a friend if I didn't make some sort of gesture to you."

"The dinner was your gesture," Holmes sighed. "After all we've been through, do you really feel so guilty for abandoning me that you feel the need to give me a tangible proof of your affections?"

"I'm just giving you a present Holmes," I snorted. "I wasn't expecting the Spanish Inquisition."

We glanced around the room, alert for danger.

"Phew," Holmes wiped his brow. "I think we dodged the bullet there, old fellow."

"Just open your gift Holmes," I sighed. "It won't kill you."

"Very well," he sighed as he examined the box. "A hat, most likely a thick heavy one for the chilly weather…"

"Don't ruin the surprise, just open it," I warned him.

"Ah," he said as he did so. "A deerstalker cap."

"It's been getting chilly lately, I thought you might like something to protect your ears," I told him. "I'm not around anymore to keep you from catching your death of cold. There, a true friend not only thinks of his mates but puts a bit of thought into his purchases for them."

"Implying that I have not," Holmes said in the driest of tones.

"Have you?"

"I have," he said coolly. "I suspected you would do something like this so I took steps to reciprocate. Look behind your chair, my dear Watson."

"Holmes you rascal!" I ejaculated when I found the box he had hidden there. "I don't believe it! I dare say I am running out of ways to look surprised. How did you manage it my dear fellow?"

"I hid it there when I was in earlier today, when I delivered the Christmas goose," came the smug reply. "One of my earlier disguises, the one with the chin whiskers. Your wife never suspected me."

"Well look at the size of it Holmes! You've got my curiosity!" I smiled. "Let's see what you bought me." I unwrapped it. "It's a ship in a bottle," I nodded. "You noticed we need something above the fireplace, eh?"

"Ah-ah-ah not so fast my dear Watson," Holmes warned me. "I put a lot of thought into it. You'll notice from the copper plate at the pedestal the ship has the name of your deceased mother and that your father is the name of the captain. You'll also notice the rolled up paper in there, be careful getting it out, it's a photograph. You told me your father had always wanted to sail the world but the responsibilities of a family prevented him from ever travelling further than the Orkneys. Instead he spent his life raising you and your brother. But as the years passed he discovered that instead of disappointment he had only a feeling of accomplishment, for his greatest adventure, his greatest accomplishment, was _you_."

By this time I had extracted and unrolled the photograph to discover that it was a picture from my childhood of me and my father. Despite my friend's dry and mocking tone, I was so overcome with emotion that I felt tears on my face.

"How's that for putting a bit of thought into a gift eh?" he smirked in that condescending manner of his. "Check and mate, my dear Watson and Happy Christmas as well while I'm at it."

Only Sherlock Holmes could turn the most thoughtful gift I could remember into a game of petty one-upmanship, but at least I had got him to celebrate the season like a human being instead of an unfeeling automaton. "Happy Christmas, Holmes, you rascal you!"

END


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